Duke of Desire (Maiden Lane #12)(53)

—From The Rock King





The next night Raphael glanced out the carriage window as they jolted into the outskirts of London.

He cast a glance at Iris. Her face was delicate in profile, lit now and again by lanterns on the shops outside. She’d been quiet but seemingly happy for the ride today, spending some time reading from Polybius.

It baffled him still that the lady sitting across from him, so upright and prim, was the same woman who had taken his cock into her mouth last night.

When he’d woken this morning, her soft limbs entangled with his, he had spent long minutes simply gazing at her in wonder. Her lips were a dark pink and parted softly, and her eyelashes lay against her cheeks like moth wings. She was beautiful and she was determined and he hadn’t thought that marriage to her would result in this intimacy. He’d wanted her near, true, for he was a selfish, wicked man, and he didn’t particularly like the dark that he lived in. She was to be company—nothing more. But it seemed he’d deceived himself, both about the power of her lure and about his own savage desires.

The last thought made him uneasy.

Had he frightened her? Had his lovemaking over the last two nights been too … carnal? Too crude for her?

He grimaced, looking away from her. He hadn’t much experience with gentle ladies, truth be told. Not with a face like his.

Not with a past like his.

When his baser instincts could no longer be put off, he bought his relief.

But if he had shocked or repulsed Iris, perhaps that was for the best. She wouldn’t be so quick to seek him again, which should make his own resistance easier.

Except that even now he found himself leaning infinitesimally toward her as if his body, having once tasted of her fruit, now not only understood hunger, but could be satiated by her and her alone.

He closed his eyes.

He’d practiced self-denial before and he could do it again. Giving in to this lust was dangerous. Not only because she was dangerous to him and to what he knew about himself and about his blood, but because her allure interfered with his mission.

It was as if she’d spellbound him like a fairy-tale hero lulled asleep by some fay creature for a thousand years. He was in danger of forgetting the real world and all he owed it.

He couldn’t let that happen. He was in London to find out who Dockery’s friends had been. Who had ordered him to assassinate Raphael.

To discover and destroy the Dionysus.

“We’ve reached London,” she murmured, interrupting his thoughts.

“Yes.”

She glanced at him worriedly. “You know I must contact Kyle and my brother as soon as I can.”

He had a base urge to keep her to himself, but he knew she was right. “Naturally, but I suggest you wait until tomorrow. It’s already late tonight.”

Her brows knit over those blue-gray eyes. “By now Henry must have had word from Hugh that I was kidnapped. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of London knows. I should think it would be best to tell him I’m alive and well as soon as possible.”

He had a fleeting wish that they could’ve stayed at the abbey.

But that was folly—both because he couldn’t keep her hidden forever and because he had a duty. “Then write them both letters tonight and I’ll escort you to see your brother tomorrow.”

“What shall I say to them?” She bit her lip, hesitating. “I think the truth won’t do for Henry, at least. If word gets out that I was at an orgy, it will hardly do my reputation good, duchess or not.”

“No.” Nor would it do to announce his involvement in the Lords of Chaos. If he made the secret society known, it would end his chances of infiltrating them. “Very well, what story do you suggest?”

“I think we cannot avoid the fact that I was kidnapped,” she said slowly. “After all, the news of it would be everywhere by now.”

He inclined his head.

“But perhaps … you rescued me? Not from the Lords,” she added hastily. “But from highwaymen. You rescued me and brought me back to the abbey. And then you realized that my reputation would be in tatters and proposed marriage.”

“How chivalrous of me,” he drawled.

She cocked her head, a smile twitching at her lips. “Well, that’s more or less what you actually did. You insisted on marriage to save me. So yes, it was indeed quite chivalrous.”

He glanced away from that little smile. It wouldn’t do if Iris started having romantic notions about him. He was no fairy-tale prince—far from it.

The carriage was pulling into the square where his family’s London town house lay.

“We’re here,” he said quietly.

Chartres House took up the entire north side of the square, a solid mass of dark-gray stone, intended to impress or intimidate anyone who saw it. He’d spent very little time here as a child, which meant that Chartres House hadn’t the same memories as Dyemore Abbey.

That, at least, was a blessing.

The carriage rolled to a stop.

His duchess turned to him. “This is it?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll show you in and then I must go out again.”

Her brows snapped together. “Why?”

He stifled his impatience. “I have business to conduct.”

The carriage bounced as the footmen jumped down.